


Tempted By The Midnight Hour

by mattepigment



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Because I DO WHAT I WANT, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), additional tags to be added later, too scared to put slow burn because im not ready for that kinda commitment babes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattepigment/pseuds/mattepigment
Summary: “Your Grace?” Maribeth questioned, the advisor’s gaze locked on to Felix’s silence and the visible grip he seemed to have on that single piece of paper. “Careful now, if this is an important document it still needs to be-”“Not of importance,” Felix had said, voice clipped and brisk as he refolded the letter and deposited it back into its cream carrier. He absentmindedly picked at the wax of House Gretten, nails mean in their assault as he disfigured the lilac crested seal beyond recognition. Childish, his brain supplied.orIt's announced that Annette will be marrying an up an coming Earl of a new house that is still riding the waves of its newly appointed title as head of a growing territory. Felix may or may not be taking the news well.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	1. 1: You Got Me So Good (I Can't Even Live)

**Author's Note:**

> i dont have anything to say other than i just wanted to write about annette wearing balconette collared dresses and it somehow spiraled into this. yay. and shes hardly even mentioned in the first chapter. astonishing.
> 
> rating is currently m but knowing me i definitely plan on making this sexual LMAO . keeping the rating m for now though
> 
> updates sporadic probably, im already brainstorming through the next chapter
> 
> fic title from Suddenly by Drugdealer & Weyes Blood
> 
> unbeta'd, god owns the errors this fic has :>
> 
> chapter title from Super Good by DUCKWRTH

Life as Duke Fraldarius is, on its worst day, tiresome.

Felix doesn’t know how his father did it. He watched the man juggle leading an army by recruiting men and securing their borders, settling tax disputes amongst merchants and farmers, and creating a positive relationship with the people of their territory all while internally handling the grief of his mother’s and Glenn’s passing while trying to raise a distant son. While some tasks were more poorly handled and dealt with than others, all other aspects within Fraldarian territory were well taken care of by his father to the point where the local economy and trade were still able to keep themselves afloat in his father’s absence. Both during the war as his time was split between assisting the professor at the monastery and after his untimely death.

For the first few months following his return to castle Fraldarius as the newly appointed Duke of Fraldarius, Felix felt out of his depth.

His strength lied in his prowess with any blade, wooden or rusted, that he could wield in his hand. Lord Rodrigue knew that after Glenn’s death that Felix had no interest in taking over the territory and becoming Duke. There were multiple occasions, recounted by word of mouth and some even penned down for record, where a teen Felix declared he would rather “cut his torso and walk around with his guts spilling in his hands than take place after his Father”. 

Because of this adamant refusal, there had been plans set for a faceless relative by the name of Emilia, a niece to Rodrigue and a younger cousin to Felix, to take place as the Duchess of Fraldarius in Felix’s reluctant stead. Though those plans, due to Rodrigue’s death, had to be unfortunately casted away seeing as little Emilia Von Winfielde-Fraldarius was still ten years too young to rule a territory and four years too early to have even begun her official training and lessons for a title she no longer could have.

Felix aches to have the same fire as his younger self. 

Instead, some three years into his leadership and title as Duke now, he sits at his father’s silly little grand oak desk with his silly little expensive owl’s quil and imported ink as he signs off on a stack of legal documents. Today is the last Friday of the month so he’s been tasked with adding his signature to every marriage, birth, and death certificate that has been created within the past calendar month.

He’s already put in his notice that he will be taking the next few days off.

“A break would do you some good,” his advisor remarks, off to his left. Her hands are busy ripping smaller pieces of the bread from Felix’s meal and dipping them into one of the small dishes of melted butter.

A few moments earlier, a servant had come into the office and dropped off Felix’s late night dinner- a cup of lavender tea to help soothe his headache with goat milk to help weaken the caffeine due to the late hour, a roll of lightly salted braided bread, slices of sharp cheese, and a serving of dried meat that had been cured and preserved in Almyran salts and spices. He had thanked the young servant boy as he unnecessarily bowed and scurried out of the room as soon as the food was finished being laid out. Other than the occasional servant, no one was allowed in his father’s office besides Felix. His advisor knows this and simply does not care.

“A break would only keep me from finishing this as quickly as possible,” comes Felix’s gruff reply, teeth stiff on working through a piece of glamorized jerky while he briefly reads over the marriage certificate in front of him. He recognizes the family names- a shopkeeper’s daughter marrying an inn keeper’s son. Close in age with no age gaps that would cause Felix to wrinkle his nose in disgust like some of the things he’s come across in the past few hours. Sounds like a wedding to secure riches and status. Felix makes a face as he signs the certificate, finalizing it with a glittering teal ink stamping of the Fraldarian family crest and territory seal.

Felix’s advisor, an older woman who served under his father since the beginning of his reign and now serves him, looks at Felix as if he were some helpless stray cat. There’s pity in her eyes. “The work will still be there, your Grace. A few moments of reprieve will do your mental and your eyes well.”

She doesn’t listen and she’s talkative. Two things to despise in someone, Felix thinks. She also steals his food as if she’s never been fed within the castle walls. Felix has to tap at her wandering hand before speaking up. “Thank you for the input, Maribeth,” Felix groans, settling his quil into the pot of black ink before scrunching his eyes shut, pinches and massages the bridge of his nose. A sigh of frustration huffs past his chapped lips. Instead of going for the tea he settles for the pitcher of water the servant had also provided and pours himself a glass. “I’d still like to finish this within the next hour.”

“Of course,” Maribeth agrees, eyes casted downwards as she nods once in agreement. “What good is a Duke if he’s no different from a zombie on its feet during the day.”

Felix hums. He picks up another piece of the dried meat and examines it. He’ll have to include this on the next grocery list for the kitchens when they go into the markets this coming Sunday. 

“I asked your father the same thing almost everyday,” Maribeth continues, wistful in her reminiscence and uncaring of the glare Felix sends her way. “Said his duty to the people would always trump his personal needs and desires.”

Irritation slowly begins to simmer under Felix’s skin and bubbles around his temples, worsening the ache of the headache that’s been festering behind his eyes since he woke up this morning. “Sounds like a fool,” Felix quips, imagining his father saying something like this with his nose turned up high and bags under his eyes. Deep set eyes are a distinctive Fraldarian trait. He can just imagine how bad his father looked some days.

Maribeth looks to Felix with something akin to fondness and supplies, “Indeed, he was,” before getting up from her seat with a tired groan. Her robes flutter around her and the midnight satin fabric glitters and reflects soft gold in the low candle light of the office. “I’ll come check in on you if I don’t see the servants running amuck in the halls trying to prepare you for bed within the hour.”

Another thing Felix hates. He can’t bathe, breathe, or eat in peace in this place. At least back in his school days he was able to dictate the levels of his privacy outside of the lessons to some extent. He thinks that even during the war when everyone was pressed for time amongst preparations, training, and healing that he still had more time to himself than he currently does in his own home. “You will go to bed and hopefully stay asleep for a long time,” Felix mopes, mood turning worse as his advisor simply laughs at his words. “Everyone already knows to not step foot into my chambers. I do not want to see a single soul by the time I’m ready to leave from here.”

“See you in the morning then, boy,” Maribeth concludes, robes spinning behind her as she makes her way to the giant double doors of Rodr-... Felix’s office. Felix mutters _yeah yeah_ under his breath, waiting for the telltale echoing click of the doors shutting before he begins stretching out his limbs, muscles and bones aching, popping, and burning from experiencing movement beyond Felix hunching and un-hunching over documents for the past afternoon.

Felix is able to whip through the final stack of documents in front of him within forty minutes and pats himself on the back when the candle sitting atop his desk still seems a few moments before burning out. “Small victories,” he muses to himself. He blows the flame out with a quick wave of his hand, eyes quickly adjusting to the midnight darkness the action throws the entire room into. Since the earth itself is also against him, whatever light that graces the room through the open windows cascades onto the commissioned portrait of his late mother, father, Glenn and presumably a baby version of himself that’s framed atop the grand oak doors of the office.

Felix makes a mental note to never grow the same god awful facial hair as his father. He wholeheartedly favors him in the face and based off of this painting of a younger Rodrigue, bare faced and happy as he sits around his family, Felix knows he too would look like an idiot with an unconnected beard and mustache.

Mood continuing to sour, he makes a mental note to have arrangements made to have the painting moved to his parent’s old bedroom.

After rearranging the worked pile of documents and blotting up any spots of dripped ink, Felix sets the stack of papers onto the golden delivery table that’s situated by the door. Around six in the morning, someone will pick up the documents in order to prepare them for duplication for record keeping down at the town hall and to have the originals sent to their respective households. Felix would never be able to leave this room if he had to worry about tasks like that as well.

Luckily, when he steps out into the halls the servants are not in disarray the way Maribeth said, or maybe joked (he can never tell), they would be. It’s an easy and silent walk to his chambers all the way in the east wing of the castle, but still very inconvenient due to his reluctance to want to take over his mother and father’s old bedroom that’s just around the corner from the office. 

Felix is tired and he wants a bath. He finished off the last of his meal and stacked the dishes for pickup before leaving the office. The tea actually did do some work in subsiding his headache and now Felix’s body is able to focus on the work of the day catching up to him.

He’s exhausted.

A few weeks ago he was told in a letter from Sylvain to expect his presence towards either the end of this month or at the beginning of the next. No request to visit, Felix hadn’t even asked him to come, let alone sent out an invite. Felix had half the mind to simply bar him from crossing his territory’s borders before thinking against it. The last time he saw Sylvain was almost two years ago at a private banquet held in the Kingdom capital of Fhirdiad. King Dimitri and the archbishop had brought news of “ _being with childs_ ” as their intimate gathering invitation letter had so eloquently put it. Felix was just surprised that it took Dimitri almost an entire year to get the object of his affections since his schooling days pregnant, managing to knock their old professor up with _twins_ no less. The news had sparked an uptick in fertility and virility cuisine throughout the capital that consisted of salmon, asparagus, and avocados imported from Brigid. Good for the economy and even better in making Dimitri red in the face once he was made aware of the public’s sudden interest in those dishes.

Felix did not stay long enough at that event to witness the arrival of Annette and a man that was in the midst of courting her at the time. 

A meeting is held bi-annually amongst the different territories of Fodlan and consists of nobles and Lords from across the continent to provide status updates on their lands and their people. Felix has had to send his advisor in his place for the past two years due to schedule conflicts. And also because he just really, really never wants to go. The first time he went he realized it was nothing more than a chest puffing competition between men who were either trying to get into the good graces of the King or find every roundabout way to let the King know that he was unfit for the title. The second time he went he was so preoccupied with being bewitched by a certain redhead that he had almost made a fool of himself when it came time for him to present the good, bad, and the ugly of Fraldarian territory. He figures with Sylvain’s declaration to see him he must have been getting fed up with Felix’s absence and was determined to see him himself.

_This isn’t like you_ , a part of Sylvain’s letter echoes in Felix’s mind as he prepares himself for bed. His hair, damp from his bath, sticks to him in wisps all over his naked back as he shrugs on a night shirt. If a servant were here, they would have neatly pinned and braided it back the way they did the first year of his reign. At that time, Felix had simply let them do whatever day and night routines they were trained to execute, simply feeling too out of place and not Duke enough to tell them otherwise. Now, for a few months now, he hasn’t allowed anyone to enter this room.

Sylvain’s letter had consisted of telling Felix off in some of the most colorful ways he’s ever read. Felix doesn’t remember Sylvain ever verbally sounding as pissed as he did in his writing, neat and legible for once. Readable enough to tell Felix he’s an idiot for sitting back idly as he seems to ignore his friends in exchange for a life of loneliness in a castle that he doesn’t want to be in. Tells him he knows he hasn’t bothered to open the wedding invitation that dons a wax seal of the Dominic territory, tells him he’s a bastard for his radio silence on the matter.

Sylvain is only partially mistaken.

Two months ago, a personal delivery had been made to him by Maribeth while he was nose deep in legal paperwork over a merchant’s permit dispute. The delivery consisted of nothing more than a silver tray which held a cream colored envelope and one of his father’s old but intricate letter openers. “Greetings, your Grace,” was Maribeth’s entering call, completely dismissive of the affronted look Felix threw her way as he continued to watch her step closer and further into his office. A shake of his head and he went back to his work. Maribeth continued on. “We’ve received a letter from a messenger boy of the Dominc territory. Jointly addressed to you from the Dominic and Gretten Houses.”

Felix had paused his writing at the mention of the name Dominic, looked up at the sound of an unfamiliar house’s name being mentioned. “Pardon?”

Maribeth tutted her teeth, “Finally, some manners from that mouth of yours.” Felix had decided to ignore the mouth on _her_ and accepted both the envelope and letter opener she held out to him. “In case it’s something important would you like-”

“You can stay,” Felix cut her off, eyebrows already set into a furrow as he examined the simple envelope, sealed with not only the burnt umber wax of the Dominic house and crest but with a light lilac of another house he had little to no information on. His eyes flickered up to his advisor, met her forward gaze. “In case,” he finalized, looking back down as he began to lift the wax.

In his confused haste he accidentally sliced a bit of the letter. Looking back, he wished he’d sliced the entire damn thing to pieces because the contents of that envelope have been the source of his demise for the past two months.

“I needed a break anyways,” Felix muttered, snorted at the sound of Maribeth’s own huff of agreement before he had set his eyes on reading the content of the letter.

  
  


_With Joyful Hearts,_ \- a slight raise to his left brow, This should be good, Felix thinks.

_Sir Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius,_

_Baron Lyndon Irwine Dominic of House Dominic requests the honor of your presence to attend the wedding of_

_Annette Fantine Dominic_

_To her betrothed_

_Wulfstan Halee-Goodmyne Gretten, son and heir to Earl and Countess Gretten of House Gretten._

Included in the letter were other details, such as requesting confirmation of attendance ( _R.S.V.P. months in advance please, meal preparations and seating arrangements needed to be started as soon as possible_ ), when the wedding ceremony would actually be held ( _in a year and a half’s time, it seemed_ ), where the wedding would be held ( _House Gretten of course, allowing the groom and bride a safe and easy trip to a family vacation house that was in the process of being built just a ways away from the family’s territory for their scheduled month long honeymoon_ ). Dress code, time slots, requests for gifts, well wishes.

Felix had half the mind to throw the damned thing out the window. The sounds of the nearby songbirds outside felt mocking in their easy and chipper tones.

“Your Grace?” Maribeth questioned, the advisor’s gaze locked on to Felix’s silence and the visible grip he seemed to have on that single piece of paper. “Careful now, if this is an important document it still needs to be-”

“Not of importance,” Felix had said, voice clipped and brisk as he refolded the letter and deposited it back into its cream carrier. He absentmindedly picked at the wax of House Gretten, nails mean in their assault as he disfigured the lilac crested seal beyond recognition. Childish, his brain supplied.

Maribeth leveled him with a look. In that singular moment her age showed, from the wisps of ashen gray mixing with brunette and flowing throughout the style of her braided updo to the creasing and slight sagging of her olive toned skin around her vibrant, hawk-like eyes. Felix knew that look very well from his childhood- it was Maribeth’s own form of non verbal admonishment that always stuck with him whenever he was caught doing something he shouldn’t have or talking in a way he knew not to. _Don’t lie to me, boy_. 

Felix was awarded one small victory then, yet it still felt like an upsetting loss as a sigh of disappointment left the old woman. “If you insist,” Maribeth let up, silently collecting the discarded letter opener and tray before making her exit, her steps echoing throughout the chamber even on the office’s plush carpeted flooring. “Though, your Grace,” she said, foot halfway out the door to keep it propped open, “do come to me if there’s anything I can do to assist with this matter, personal or not.”

With Maribeth finally gone and the songbirds still chirping about outside his window, sun blazing hot against the back of his collared neck, Felix had let out a stuttered breath from deep within his chest, hands shaking as he moved to grab hold of the piece of hand written Hell that was just delivered to his desk moments before. With an ache now beginning to settle itself deep within every bone, muscle, and organ in his body Felix resigned himself to accepting the one thought his traitorous mind had been toying with ever since the liberation of the Kingdom capital of Fhirdiad.

In roughly two years time, Felix was going to have to watch the object of his own affections walk down an aisle and marry a man that wasn’t him.


	2. 'Cause I Can't Hold My Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette has an argument with her mom. Sylvain comes to Felix in peace and brings info on House Gretten alongside unfortunate descriptions on the current state of Annette's appearance just to see Felix squirm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd !
> 
> chapter title from Funny Thing by Thundercat

Life as the sole heir to Baron Dominic’s title is, on its best day, dreadful.

Annette wakes up before dawn every morning and goes to bed hours after the sun has set. Her days since the liberation of the Fodlanese people from Empress Edelgard’s reign have solely consisted of her trying to prove her worth as an heir to her uncle’s dynasty to his court of six men in their late forties who would rather see her married off to their own sons or, even worse, betrothed and impregnated by one of them.

She’s chastised for speaking out of turn, correcting the miscalculations done by snobby advisors that would have cost her uncle thousands of gold if left approved and unreviewed, for wearing dresses that were either too modest or too revealing depending on whichever wretched man she had the displeasure of sharing company with either at breakfast or a schedule hearing. Even on days where she gets a decent amount of rest she wakes of feeling exhausted and dreads what’s to come in the following hours.

Annette, one of the most powerful mages to work within the Kingdom’s army during the war and fought next to the man currently titled as the continent’s sole ruler. Annette, leader of a battalion that boasted over a hundred men and women strong- warriors, falcon knights, paladins, and mages alike- and went toe to toe with the likes of Hubert, seeing to the defeat of the Adrestian Emperor with her own eyes. Annette, wielder of the perfectly curated wind spell that resulted in the defeat of the Death Knight not once but twice; the first being her time as a student and the second during the war. Annette, whose careful calculations and powerful, devastating spells only paled in comparison to the late Professor Hanneman and her old classmate Lysithea. Annette, passionate about the advancement of public education and the accessibility of Reason and Faith throughout the continent and someone who slowly began to make strides in making enrollment at the School of Sorcery a possibility for whoever desired to attend.

Annette, who currently feels as if she has been slapped in the face.

“Mother, excuse my mouth,” she says, face alight with fury as her hair whips around her face due to the summer’s breeze. Seasons in Dominic territory are always lovely, spring and summer feeling more cool whereas autumn and winter bring warmer temperatures. It’s a shame Annette can’t spend her time enjoying the weather with a cup of tea and a plate of sweets. She instead has to worry about almost tripping over her skirts in her haste to catch up with her mother. “This is absurd!”

Annette huffs as she bunches and gathers the offensive garments into her hands, grip tight as she wrinkles the carefully pressed linens while she tries to follow her mother’s movements across the courtyard, ignoring the stares of a few maids and servants who are passing by or taking their breaks within the open space.

Lady Dominic, for as long as Annette has ever known, was a kind woman. Remarkably intelligent, sharp witted, quick on her feet, and from the stories she used to tell Annette when she was younger she was an absolute unit with magic. A force to be reckoned with, a beacon of elegance and grace as she flung wind spell after thunder spell after meteorite. Annette remembers nights of her childhood being spent giggling in her mother’s lap as they conjured flames with their hands. Tiny, tiny Annette’s candle sized flame took all of her willpower and an open palm to create. Her mother’s flame, crackling and burning bright and yellow hot in the darkness of Annette’s room, danced fierce and tall towards the ceiling in its spot rooted on just the pad of her pointer finger.

The woman Annette is currently chasing after is a splitting image of everything the wonder she knows her mother to be… isn’t. Evil, distant, cold. Silently malicious. This is worse than the year her mother had spent denying requests for company when Baron Dominic revealed the news of Annette’s father, years after the Tragedy of Duscur which was his last known public sighting, was working again as a knight within the Kingdom of Faerghus under a new pseudonym, finger bare of the wedding ring he vowed to all those years ago.

“Mother!” Present time Annette calls out, desperate for an answer, and it must be the frustratingly broken crack in her voice that finally causes her mother to pause her chase, finally turn around to meet her daughter’s questioning eyes.

Contrary to what many people may think, the only features of her mother’s Annette inherited was her short stature, button nose, and her wide eyes. Even still, standing in each other’s presence, they are often mistaken as cousins due to the differences in the colors of their skin, hair, and eyes. Annette heavily favors her father’s features, inheriting his auburn hair and sky blue eyes all the way to how his ears slightly point and the mole they both sport at the base of the back of their necks. 

“Mom,” Annette tries again, angrily blinking away the wisps of her hair the wind refuses to stop blowing into her face. “Please, you have to speak with Uncle. There has to be something other than-”

“I’m sorry, ‘Nettie,” her mother cuts in, voice whisper soft, and Annette aches to hug her, aches to stomp past the thousand yard distance her family members seem to be hellbent on putting between themselves and her. Just a few feet apart and her mother, someone who had always made it a point to have Annette by her side even in the middle of her working hours, can’t even lift her eyes to look her daughter in the face. “Your uncle’s understanding of mine and your father’s relationship can only go so far. The people of this region are needing aid beyond what you, I, and his court of fools are able to offer and assist with.” There’s a tightness in her mother’s stance as she shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another. “Morale amongst this region would significantly boost to see a Dominic woman-”

“Betrothed, wed, and with child,” Annette blurts out, angered and tired. Those five words have been the cause of some of the nastiest headaches Annette’s ever had to suffer through within the past half year. “As I’ve heard from Uncle’s court ever since returning home three years ago. “You and I both know I am more than capable of being able to run this territory myself. I can do the job of Uncle’s court in my sleep six times over before those fools ever come up with a resolution to anything!”

Her mother rushes forward to hush Annette- they’re out in the open and there are eyes watching them at every angle. This hurts Annette even more. She’s visibly shaking and can’t help raising her voice. Her mother’s acting with her Uncle’s reputation in mind and doesn’t seem to have a single thought regarding consoling her upset daughter in mind. “Annette, lower your  _ voice _ !”

“My feelings are hurt and I feel like shit!” Annette wrenches away the hand her mother placed on her shoulder, her gut wrenching and somersaulting with the entire movement. “He’s seen the work I’m capable of.  _ You’ve _ seen what I’m able to accomplish through my hard work alone. Why must I be married off to appease his court or the people when that should be the least of their worries?”

“Your Uncle is nothing more than a baron, Annette,” her mother says softly, casting her eyes downwards once again. Annette watches as her mother brings her hands close to her chest and wrings them anxiously, not missing the way she toys with a wedding ring she stubbornly continues to wear after all of these years. “This region and the people require financial stability and safety beyond what he is able to offer at his current title. Marrying into a family of higher status will be-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Annette whimpers, bunching up her skirts again before turning back the way she came. She refuses to cry in front of her mother but her dismissal for her feelings and the need to sound robotically political tugs at the frog logged in Annette’s throat.

“Annette,” her mother says exasperatedly, now becoming the one that chases. “This is based off of the formal appearances you and the heir of House Gretten have had within the past few years. Attending banquets and council meetings together-”

“Oh please,” Annette rolls her eyes, voice heavy as she rubs her nose with the back of her hand. She has to focus hard to prevent tripping on her skirts as she attempts to bolt her way up the steps. “We’ve been seen publicly four times in total. Not out of love or for courting purposes but because two houses didn’t want their heirs being seen publicly without having someone on their arm. Now look at where that got me.”

Annette slows down once she’s reached the top of the stairs and turns to meet her mother’s gaze. Her mother stands solemnly on a step halfway up the stairs and Annette swallows as she knows the words she says next will hurt her mother.

“I spent half of my childhood up until now watching you be loyal to someone who hasn’t given you a second thought since his disappearance. Within that time I located him and he couldn’t even be decent enough to look me in the eyes and apologize to you or me. The war has long since ended and he hasn’t even bothered to come back to the House. Not to see me. Not to see Uncle. And not to even see you, mother.” Annette, fine tuned to her mother’s emotions, heart breaks as she sees the visible sadness that undertakes her mother but she continues to roll forward, headstrong and sure in herself. “A loveless marriage is not in my itinerary, mother. I’ve told you and Uncle as much already and if needed I’ll declare this to his people and his sorry ass court.” With one final gaze towards her mother Annette turns to continue her way back to her study, ignoring her mother’s call of her name and trying to keep the image of her saddened mother from ruining the rest of her day.

  
  
  
  
  
  


True to Sylvain’s word, he stops by in Fraldarian territory on one of the days Felix had taken off for himself.

On any other occasion Felix would have jokingly deemed Sylvain’s presence a terror, a nuisance. Sylvain’s planned and unplanned visits never brought anything besides chaos and headaches but Felix is still grateful of the fact that an old friend continues to check in on him from time to time.

He just wishes the current… circumstance for Sylvain’s visit was different.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Sylvain muses over a cup of Bergamot tea and lightly sweetened scones, crumbs all over his mouth and the scruffy beard he refuses to shave. Felix already knows that whatever Sylvain might say next most definitely will not make him feel better, but he’s too preoccupied with a mouthful of his own tea to tell the redhead off. “It seems purely political. Annette had absolutely no love in her eyes for the man at the last council meeting they jointly attended. Baron Dominic and General Gustave are cruel mutts in my eyes.”

Felix’s gut churns. “And I’m sure you yourself went digging for some information on this newly created House Gretten.” Not one for sweets himself, he was currently occupying himself with a piece of Almyran jerky he requested his kitchen staff to purchase again. 

Sylvin scoffs, as if to say  _ who do you think I am _ , before rattling off the information he was able to find by asking his own questions and conducting his own research. Felix used to joke about the war only lasting a month if Sylvain and Claude put their two knuckleheaded brains together to create some grand scheme in smiting half the empire in as little as a snap of their fingers.

Sylvain clears his throat, looks at Felix head on. “The simplest version of this is that they were a…  _ lesser _ known house that snuck their way up through the ranks during the majority of the five years the war had run rampant across Fodlan. They were already a somewhat established family that had generations of decent wealth to back them up before the current heads of the house were granted Earl and Countess titles by Dimitri once the war ended. He saw their rehabilitation efforts and the aid they provided to the people within their region so it made sense for him to grant them those titles and provide the necessary government funding in order to continue their work.”

Felix nods, not liking this a bit. “Seems harmless enough, but this is Fodlan politics we’re talking about.  _ And _ this territory was situated just a few hundred miles within the old Adrestian Empire borders.” Close to Arundel, no less. Felix sniffs, wipes at his nose. This entire situation reeks. “Why would Dimitri anoint power to a house that seemed to work under Edelgard’s reign?”

Sylvain smacks his lips. “They didn’t.” A pause as he continues to get his words together. “For all intents and purposes, their stance was to be neutral during the war. On the outside looking in they seemed to be focused on restoring the farmlands throughout their region and helping the common folk that lived within their territory. There isn’t a single written record of them providing aid to any military or bodies for any troops.”

“Doesn’t make sense,” Felix cut in, eyes sharp on Sylvain.

“Agreed!” Sylvain says, attitude easy as he brushes off the absolutely  _ dreadful _ energy Felix seems to be emitting with every word he says. “Even smaller houses were siding with one party or another. Baron Dominic had seemed to outwardly side with Cornelia during the war lest his land be sieged. Of course, we had knowledge that he would be cooperating with us from the inside from…”, Sylvain trails off, skirting around the name of the individual who presented them with this knowledge. He shakes his head at Felix’s apparent poker face and continues, “There’s just not enough information on this house to specifically state that they’re nothing but a suspicious bunch because for all we know they seemed to truly care for the people they lived amongst and simply wanted to assist their region during a time of need.”

“Was there no government in that area prior to the current household becoming the head? It just doesn’t sound right that a section of the Adrestian Empire was going unsupervised and… unused when war efforts and relief were requested all across the continent.”

“Nope,” Sylvain says, annoyingly popping the P. “They were within Adrestian borders, correct, but official records state that House Gretten was within a region small enough to be governed solely by the people and for the people. The titles to the heads of the house now seem to act more for the sake of organization, it seems.”

_ But big enough to be considered a house to be married into _ , Felix bitterly thinks. His cheeks pinken when he hears Sylvain chuckle at him, realizing he’s said this out loud. “Right?”

“Right,” Sylvain agrees once again. “Many people moved towards what’s now titled Gretten after the end of the war and the territory is quickly expanding. It helps that their location was so close to House Arundel because the people of that territory are just… slowly being included and reforming to be under House Gretten. Pretty remarkable progress, I say.”

“Disgusting,” Felix corrects. The scones on his plate have long since gone cold from being left untouched. Sylvain reaches across to relieve Felix of one of his abandoned desserts and he lets him with a nod of his head. “This reeks of an empire being built off of dirt and blood money.”

Sylvain simply hums, mulling over Felix’s words. “Maybe. But we don’t know for sure. Also,” Sylvain leans in close, voice dropping low. “Careful now. Don’t wanna start a war over affairs that don’t necessarily concern you, right?” 

Felix huffs and turns his head to the side. Sylvain’s right- what other Houses do, so long as their actions don’t result in another war, should have little to no effect on Felix’s ability to run his own. His tea, bitterly strong and cold from abandon, feels like rocks down his throat as he downs the entire cup. 

“She’s gorgeous, by the way.”

“Sylvain,” Felix starts. He sets his tea cup down with a little more force than what’s necessary, fine china clattering loudly in the quiet of his gardens.

“The few times I’ve seen her she’s been wearing her hair pinned up and out of her face. It’s gotten longer, y’know. Still that same marmalade from our monastery days.”

Felix tries to ignore Sylvain as he continues to prattle on.

“Oh! There’s this new fashion craze sweeping across Fodlan right now. Bal.. conette? I think it’s called. Yeah, balconette. It’s like the collar of the dress is low cut and runs straight across the chest like this-,” Sylvain says, demonstrating how the garment sits on one’s chest with the napkin from his lap. “Absolutely lovely, if I must say so myself. Annette wore something like that to the last council meeting with that Gretten boy.”

Felix hums, eyes sharp and murderous as he stares at Sylvain. He tries his hardest to will the image Sylvain has created of Annette out of his mind. “Sounds amazing,” he deadpans. The iron garden chair he was sitting on screeches against the concrete as he pushes it out and away from the table to stand. He dusts off his clothing, ears pinking as he feels Sylvain’s knowing stare on him. “See yourself out, I actually want to enjoy the rest of my day off to myself.”

“Aw, Fee Wix!” Sylvain childishly pouts, puppy dog eyes gazing up at Felix. Silence falls between the two of them as Felix stares at him. “... What gift will you bring to the wedding?”

“I want you gone within the hour,” Felix huffs, irritated, eyebrows pinching inwards as he turns on his heel. 

“She’d be devastated if you didn’t attend,” Sylvain calls out to Felix’s retreating back, not missing the way the younger man’s shoulders hunch upwards.

“You have thirty minutes!” Felix calls out, not bothering to look back at his friend. His mood continues to sour and he wants nothing more than to be left alone to wallow in his own self inflicted misery.

Sylvain watches on as the doors leading back into the Fraldarius castle close with a thud. Weather in Fraldarian territory at the time of year is nice enough for Sylvain to have only needed a light sweater underneath his House’s garb. “Such a nice day and he continues to be foul,” he mutters, shakes his head, fetches his long coat from its place on a nearby chair before he makes his way towards the entrance of the castle with the assistance of a few Fraldarian servants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sylvain national terror, best friend extraordinaire

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading :] old english name generator was my friend today


End file.
